by Gaelen Foley
For the moment, however, it was time to face the world. Brushing her doubts aside. She thanked the maids and left her room to present herself in her much improved state to her cousins.
As she walked down the hallway, not altogether sure where she was going, she found herself once more contemplating some of the astonishing news she had received last night when Ian had brought her here, to the opulent residence of her cousins, the glamorous Duke and Duchess of Hawkscliffe, who had insisted on her calling them Robert and Bel.
They had revealed that Jack had been in London and just left, but if this were not surprising enough in itself, considering how much he claimed he hated the place, they told her he had brought along—his wife!
Georgie could hardly believe that any woman had succeeded in taming wild Jack. She could hardly wait to meet this extraordinary lady, but the pair had already sailed away again due to Jack’s pressing business in South America.
To Georgie’s added surprise, her cousins had told her that Papa had also been in Town. Unfortunately, Jack had needed her father’s help in his dangerous scheme, and so Lord Arthur had been obliged to set sail at once—in spite of having received an urgent note from Derek about their trouble with the maharajah while he had been out at sea.
At first it had been hard for Georgie to accept that her father would put Jack’s business before the welfare of his own offspring, but then her eldest cousin, Robert, the duke, under whose roof she now sojourned, had explained that Jack and her father were involved in nothing less than the liberation of the Spanish colonies in South America. Jack had filled several of his ships with soldiers, guns, and supplies to keep the revolution alive, and he needed her father to help him blast his way through the Spanish blockade.
Georgie hated knowing that her father, in his sixties, was in every bit as much danger as her beloved brothers were back in Asia. He really was too old for this!
Lord Arthur did not know how soon he could return, but until then, he had asked Robert and Bel to watch out for her. And so, left behind—as always—she could do nothing but wait and pray and try not to go mad until her adventuresome family was back safely together again under one roof.
As Georgie proceeded down the hallway trying to wrap her mind around all the changes that were happening, she was unaware that the biggest shock of all still lay in store.
Then she saw the little boy.
He was sitting on a chair by the wall with a remarkable air of patience, but when he saw her, his eyes widened, and he climbed down at once and walked toward her calmly.
Dressed up as a tiny gentleman, the child was only about as high as the chair rail or the top of the wainscoting. He had brown hair, fair skin with a smattering of freckles, and enormous dark eyes.
She regarded the boy in surprise as he stopped in front of her, tilted his head back to meet her gaze, and gave her a cheerful “Hallo.”
“Well, hallo to you, sir.” Tickled by the greeting, she folded her hands behind her back and bent down a little. “You must be Morley. I am looking for your mother.”
He shook his head. “I am Matthew and I don’t have a mother.”
“What?” Georgie asked softly, her eyes widening, altogether taken aback by the heart-tugging response. She crouched down in wonder to meet Matthew at his eye level.
The boy studied her with a serious stare. “Why do you sleep in the daytime?”
“I don’t usually, but today I was awfully tired.”
“Oh.” He studied her hair and her earrings with a fascinated look. “I like dogs. Do you?”
“Some.”
“Aunt Bel said your name is Miss Knight.”
“That is true, but you can call me Georgie.”
He laughed all of a sudden, an infectious giggle. “Georgie! Like the king!”
“Yes,” she said, laughing with him. “Just like the king.”
“Papa says King George is cwazy!”
“Who is your papa, Matthew?” She recalled hearing that the fourth Knight brother had inherited a son by marriage. “Is it Lord Lucien?”
“No, ma’am, my papa is Lord Griffith. And when I grow up, I’m going to be just like him.”
A feather could have bowled her over at this news. She stared at the child with the breath half knocked out of her.
“Lord Griffith?” she echoed. So that’s why this child seemed so familiar!
Matthew edged closer to her and nodded, but he seemed to be growing bored of this topic, now examining the sprigged flower pattern on her gown with great interest, as though he had never seen a lady before. Growing bolder, he reached out an exploratory finger and poked at one of her sparkling earrings, making the pearl bob swing.
Georgie let him look while she did her best to absorb this shocking revelation.
Ian had a son!
Obviously, Matthew was the product of his first marriage. She looked at the boy more closely and thought, Of course. Who else’s child could this be? He had his father’s serious air, his intelligent gaze, his good-natured sobriety. His quiet intensity. And like the father, there was something sad about the son.
How could he not tell me that he had a child? Reeling, Georgie looked at the adorable little boy and knew that this changed everything.
“Matthew, do you know where the duchess is?” she asked at length, barely managing to locate her voice. “I should like very much to see her.”
He perked up. “Aunt Bel? She’s in the morning room with Baby Kate!”
“Where is the morning room, please? I’m afraid I do not know the way.”
“Come on, I’ll show you!” He latched onto her hand and escorted her down the hallway.
She noticed that the boy continually kept glancing at her, again and again, watchfully, as if he feared that at any second she might disappear.
Hours later, after a select committee meeting followed by a typically unproductive haranguing session with a few members of the Cabinet, Ian and Hawk returned to Knight House.
The silence informed them at once that it was the children’s nap time. Practically tiptoeing, the butler, Mr. Walsh, appeared and relieved them of their hats and things. He also informed them that luncheon would be served in half an hour on the terrace, per Her Grace’s wishes.
That sounded to Ian like a pleasant suggestion, for it was a balmy June day. They proceeded upstairs to see the ladies, keeping their voices low as they exchanged a few ideas and observations on the morning’s political business.
Ian felt his heartbeat quicken as they ascended. He’d had some difficulty concentrating all morning due to his distraction over Georgiana.
Obviously, last night had not gone according to plan. What today might hold—well, with her, it was anyone’s guess. He wasn’t sure if she would still be angry about Tess or if a good night’s sleep might have inspired her to wipe the slate clean.
Hawk’s duchess, Belinda, a graceful blond, came out quietly into the corridor and greeted both men, Ian with a smile, her black-haired husband with a kiss on the cheek.
“Robert, may I speak with you for a moment?” She plucked at her lord’s sleeve, drawing him closer, while she pointed Ian toward the music room. “Go and look in there,” she whispered to him.
Ian smiled uncertainly at his best friend’s wife and went to investigate, while Bel whisked Hawk into the drawing room across the hall. The door closed.
He heard a soft voice murmuring as he approached the music room. When he stepped into the open doorway, he stopped, arrested at the sight of his little son half asleep on Georgiana’s lap.
The future marquess was sucking his thumb, a babyish habit that still carried over into nap time, and holding onto the demure lace ruffle of her sleeve as if had claimed her for his very own. Georgiana was reading to him softly from a book of children’s verses.
Ian stared, totally taken off guard.
The sight of her there, cuddling his motherless son, a wholesome portrait of maternal tenderness, filled him with a sudden, exquisite blend
of sweetness and pain, pointing once more to the gaping hole in his life. But now, he realized, he could be looking at the start of a real family. A real home.
His house had never quite become a home because it had always lacked a heart, just as his son had always lacked a mother’s nurturing love.
Georgiana looked so soft and kind and inviting, so capable and so very gentle, that Ian’s throat tightened as he gazed at her. He leaned against the door frame, unable to take his eyes off her. You have to marry me, he thought. I won’t have it any other way.
Again, he thought of the past. He wanted better for his son than the upbringing he had known, and it was his sharpest regret that he knew he was doing even worse than his parents had done.
The aristocratic household he had grown up in had been cold and strict, substituting rank, pride, and dignity for love. Though messier and far more chaotic, the Knight clan he had attached himself to had been much more closely knit due to the strong bonds between Hawk and all his brothers. It had been easy for Ian to tag along at the edges of their tribe, but it wasn’t the same. Especially now, when all of them were married, with wives and children of their own. How many years had passed?
And he was still alone.
Until the moment she looked over and saw Ian leaning in the doorway, Georgie was still angry at him for not telling her about Matthew. Failing to mention his former lovers who might come bursting in the door at any moment was one thing, but keeping his child a secret from her was a far more serious offense.
But then she sensed his presence, glanced over, and saw him there, watching her with his child in the drowsy hush of afternoon, and the expression on his face drew her up short.
His green eyes were deep and haunted; the stark planes and angles of his face had tensed. He stood there, mute, the rugged line of his mouth pressed shut, every inch of his big, solid frame limned with an indescribable loneliness.
Georgie stared at him.
She had sensed the hidden pain beneath his polished surface from their first meeting in Calcutta, and had glimpsed it again in the prayer cave when she had asked about his wife. Usually he hid it well, but now, for the first time, as he watched her with his son, it had emerged in plain view, showing on his face, written in his soulful gaze.
This man was hurting. And one long, searching look into his eyes was enough to transmute her earlier anger at him into compassion. How could she stay angry when he looked so bleak, so obviously in need of tenderness?
It dawned on her that there might be some greater purpose in her being sent to London. A hint of destiny. Ian Prescott had saved her life and that of her brothers. Maybe now it was her turn to save him.
She returned his stare in silence, careful not to disturb his sleeping child. He pushed away from the doorway and sauntered into the room.
His boy sensed his presence, though half asleep, and stirred in her arms. She hushed Matthew with a kiss to his warm brow.
“Papa.” Matthew wiggled his stockinged feet but was too content to climb off Georgie’s lap.
Ian smiled at the tot with a glow of pride in his eyes. “Son.” He bent down and gently captured one of the child’s happily dancing feet. “I see you made a friend.”
Georgie’s heart quaked as Ian lifted his guarded gaze to hers. “Hallo.”
She smiled ruefully at him, recalling that she had received the exact same greeting from his son.
“Lunch will be served on the terrace in a bit,” he murmured. “I’ll go find one of the nursery maids to watch him.” Ian gently cupped his child’s sleepy head for a moment. “Were you good while I was gone?”
“He was an angel,” she replied stoutly on Matthew’s behalf. “He hasn’t got a bad bone in his body.” She kissed the child’s tousled head and hugged him a little more tightly. “I’m keeping him.”
“Are you?” He glanced at her in subdued surprise. “I’m envious.”
“We need to talk,” she whispered, giving him a firm look.
He read her eyes and a fleeting shadow of uneasiness passed across his chiseled features. Then he nodded to her and withdrew to find one of the children’s caretakers.
When Matthew was safely handed off into the maid’s care a few minutes later, Ian closed the door quietly and turned to her, unaware that her womanly protective instincts had been roused and that she was feeling a trifle belligerent on his child’s behalf.
A part of her wanted to throttle the man, but his armored demeanor betrayed the raw vulnerability just under the surface. This warned her she had better tread carefully, for it seemed she might have stumbled onto his Achilles’ heel. She wanted answers, but she didn’t want to hurt him.
Wondering for a moment how to proceed, she concluded with a shrug that she usually fared best with the direct approach. “Why didn’t you tell me that you have a son?”
He shrugged, eyeing her from a cautious distance as he sauntered past the pianoforte. “It didn’t come up.”
“You could have brought it up!” she exclaimed. “Were you trying on purpose to hide him from me, or did you just forget that he exists?”
“Neither!” He frowned at her as he turned and set his hands on his waist. “Good day to you, too,” he muttered.
“I am sorry if my greeting doesn’t suit you, Ian, but I’m afraid my day started off with quite a shock. Generally, when one proposes marriage, one ought to mention if children are involved. Any others I should know about?”
“No!” His cheeks flushed at the question. He turned away and paced, beginning to look a trifle caged.
Georgie exhaled slowly, but the faint pain in her lungs reminded her afresh that her fierce and immediate connection to little Matthew Prescott had a lot to do with her own childhood and the grief she had so often felt at being left behind, left alone. It was important not to take that out on Ian. At the same time, who better than she could help him understand his child’s needs?
She leaned against the scrolled arm of a fauteuil. “He is a beautiful child.”
“I know. Thank you,” Ian growled.
“He’s sweet and clever and very well behaved. And—” Her words broke off.
He paused and sent her a dark look over his shoulder. “And what?”
“Starved for your notice,” she said softly.
He stared at her.
“Why didn’t you ever mention him to me?”
He looked at her for a long moment, at a loss, then turned away, dragging a hand through his hair. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? That is no answer! The poor little thing, he might as well be wearing a sign around his neck that says, ‘Please, somebody, love me!’ Surely you see that he craves your attention. Does he not interest you? Surely you are not ashamed of him somehow?”
“Of course not.” Ian gave her a pained look, then fell silent for a long moment. He looked away again, staring blankly at the wall.
“Talk to me,” Georgie urged him. “Don’t turn away. Help me understand.”
He rubbed his mouth in agitation and then shook his head as studied the floor. “When I am away from home, I try not to think about Matthew. I have to put him out of my mind. It is the only way that I can do my job. My work, you see, requires a cool temper and a lucid mind. Detachment. Objectivity. And nothing, Georgiana, is objective for me about that boy.” He swallowed hard as he sent her an anguished glance. “He is my child. He is never far from my mind.” He faltered. “I don’t talk about him when I’m on a mission because I know he’s left at home wondering why I’m not there. It hurts to be away from him. And…it hurts to be near him, too.”
“Oh, Ian.” She rose from her perch on the chair’s arm and went over to him, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder.
She did not need to ask why it was painful for him to be near his son. The answer was obvious: grief over Matthew’s mother. The child must have reminded Ian of his dead wife. He must have loved her very much, she thought wistfully.
“Come and sit with me,” she wh
ispered, taking his hand between both of hers.
Avoiding her tender gaze, he let her lead him over to the sofa. They sat. She let out a long sigh, but neither of them spoke. She could almost feel his first wife with him in the room like some pale ghost.
He studied his loosely clasped hands for a long moment. When he broke the silence, his tone was once again controlled and carefully sardonic. “He is part of the reason why I need you, you see.”
“I’ve realized that.” She paused. “I’m honored by your trust, that you think I would make a good mother.”
He cast her a wry shadow of a smile. “Of course you would. You have a way of…sprinkling joy everywhere you go.”
His words brought a fresh mist of tears to her eyes. “Thanks.”
“It’s true.”
“But, you know, it doesn’t serve Matthew unless you and I are sure that marriage is what we both want.”
“I’m sure,” he answered without hesitation.
“You’ve thought the matter through, then?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t have asked if I still had doubts.”
“Perhaps, if you’re willing, you would explain to me some of the reasons that helped you arrive at this conclusion.”
He shrugged. “Well, there’s Matthew. And the family alliance that has long been sought. It does seem to be inevitable. I’ve already told you I think we make a good team. We hold many of the same values, and of course you’re very beautiful. And, lastly, someday I would like to have another child. Perhaps a few.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” His nod was full of conviction, but then he hesitated. “And, er, after what happened in the prayer cave—and last night, too—marrying you is the only right and decent thing to do.”
Oh, Ian, she thought in a poignant mix of longing and sudden sorrow.
His reasons all made sense, but it was not lost on her that he hadn’t mentioned love. She knew this was no accidental oversight. He was a man who always said exactly what he meant. A pang of disappointment clenched her innards, but she voiced no protest. At least he did not insult her by telling her merely what she wanted to hear. Honesty was part of love. At least it was a start.
